AN/AR: To the semi-anonymous charmedluvhestia, since I can't PM you I'll answer here. Yea, I do have two stories up with the title 'Witchcraft,' and yes they're the same story. It's because not everyone checks the crossover archives, and I'm a review glut. : ) I've now put a note up on my profile page explaining that.

On another note, Morphidae made the absolutely brilliant suggestion of adding a footnote to explain anything a reader might not get . .. Like what the heck Mabon is. Here goes:

Mabon is a Wiccan holiday, or Sabbat, that celebrates the Autumn Equinox, one of the two days where the day and night are exactly equal. It is also the name of a Welsh god, Mabon ap Modron, and began being used for the holiday around 1970. Mabon is the second of the three Wiccan harvest festivals, and is sometimes called by American Wiccans the Witches Thanksgiving, because it's a time to give thanks. (Yes, that sentence is semi-redundant, I know) It's a time for feasting, community, and kinship. A lot of Pagan Pride Days are held around Mabon.

Hope that clears some things up a bit - M.

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Chris rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want to celebrate Mabon with me?"

Next thing Chris knew, he had an armful of hugging girl.

Maybe he was just a sap when it came to girls crying?

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Later that night as she was heading in to the Great Hall, Angelica was surprised to be intercepted by Chris, who was holding a gold plate from one of the tabled, piled high and covered with a pair of white serviettes. He grabbed her shoulder and nodded back at the hall. "Someone set off a bunch of fireworks," he said. "The eachers can't get them to stop exploding. Let's eat in the library."

Angelica raised her eyebrows. Did Chris want to be killed by the book-avenging Valkyrie that was the school librarian? "Madam Pince would use out intestines to decorate the library," she said, only half serious.

Chris shook his head. "She won't. She's trying to help fix the fireworks in the Hall. So . . . Wanna come?"

The dark haired girl shrugged. "Sure," she said. "Why not?"

So thus they went off, getting lost multiple times until Angelica walked into Chris, making him drop all the food . . . Or at least that's what Angelica thought was about to happen. It didn't.

Chris held out his hand as if on instinct, and the plate zoomed back into his hands, perfectly fine. He watched Angelica as if wondering what her reaction would be, but somehow, she didn't think he was afraid she'd react badly. How odd; she was fairly sure that he wasn't an optimist. She grabbed his arm and pulled him down to sit, and took the plate from him.

"Well, I suppose that answers my question of whether you're a practitioner or not," she said, setting the napkins down and dishing out the food - ooh, he got Yorkshire pudding, her favourite.

And that was that. They finished their food and somehow managed to find the Great hall again to drop off their plate and grab dessert, the fireworks having been gotten rid of while they were gone. But they never did get to the library.

.

Saturday morning after Angelica woke up, she decided it was time she wrote Prue a letter - their mind link only flared up when one of them got hurt or was in danger, so it wasn't as if she could just mentally knock on a door and say Hey, Prue? Anybody home? Besides which, she missed Prue, and maybe the older witch would be able to give her advice on how to make friends? She was uncomfortable with most of her classmates. They stared at her and pointed at her scar - when she tried talking, they just stared. It wasn't like she was a movie star or anything. She just was too stupid to figure out how to die as a baby and Voldemort had to show her, since she mustn't have paid attention when her parents did it.

So, the short first year grabbed the stationary Prue had given her for Yule* two years ago, a pen, and started writing.

Dear Prue,

I miss you. I guess that's a silly way to start a letter, but it's true. Wizard school is fascinating, and some of the things they can do with just a word and a wave of their wand . . . I've even read that a wizard can learn to cast spells silently, or without a wand. That's supposed to be nearly impossible, though - maybe I'll have a talent for it?

There's no music class here. *Smiles* You must be cringing right now, Prue. But there is a chorus, I think - some of my housemates were talking about Professor Flitwick sponsoring it - they're hoping to convince the headmaster to stop making us sing the school song every year if the chorus sings instead.

Oh! Speaking of houses. I'm in Ravenclaw, the 'geeky' house. You're supposed to be really clever, or witty, to get in. I'm not so sure that's true though . . . My classmates act like complete idiots when I try to talk to them. I have made one friend, though - Chris. I met him on the train. He's a Slytherin - known for their cunning, ruthlessness, and ambition. Not many people like them, and judging by some of the louder members of the house, I can see why. Draco Malfoy's a complete prat.

Anyway. Chris is he boy who's luggage I tripped over - you might remember him, the American? With the ghastly orange suitcase? He's really nice, and a witch, too. I never expected to meet one here. We're going to celebrate Mabon together, but we're not sure how to do it. His mum always put together celebrations when he was at home, and I've always celebrated with you, so we're piecing the riual together mostly by memory and what feels right.

How have you been? Better now that Dudley and his friends aren't at school? Did a Year One student stick gum on the piano again?

I hope you've been good. Lots of love,

Angie.

(P.S. - The owls stay around if you give them treats, like bacon, bread, or ham. No bird meat, though! That way you can send me a return letter.

(P.P.S. - Umm . . . How do I make friends?)

Biting her lip nervously, Angelica looked over her letter. It seemed okay . . . Maybe she should have added the post-post script? But it was right under the post script, so she couldn't tear it off, and it would look funny if she scribbled it off - Miss Trudoe would ask her what was wrong, and then she'd have to tell her all about only having one friend. True, it was more than she'd ever had before, but still, she'd hoped to have at least one that was a girl . . .

Maybe she was greedy.

Shrugging, Angelica grabbed a jar of sand from the box of writing supplies she'd gotten at the stationary shop in Diagon Alley and sprinkled some over the page to absorb the ink and make it dry faster. Once it had, she dusted off the paper, tore it out of her notebook, and stuck it in an envelope, closing it with a quick lick of her tongue.

Now. How to get to the Owlery . . .

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A few hours later found Angelica sitting on a table in the library, talking to Chris and pretending she was tall. Chris sat beside her, a spiral-bound notebook in his left hand, a pen in his right, jotting down notes as they tried to settle on what to do for the upcoming holiday.

"My mom always makes bread," he was saying. "Lots and lots of bread, and she somehow bakes it so that there's a picture of the god or of wheat on it."

Angelica gave him a long look. "I can't cook that well, I'm not a chef and would have no clue where to start. Do you know how she does it?"

Chris looked to the side. "Umm . . . No."

"So how about just a normal loaf of bread to have after the ritual?" Angelica suggested. "Do you like banana bread? Mine's really delicious."

The Halliwell boy nodded, and Angelica continued talking, half o him, and half to herself.

"A few years ago Miss Trudoe and I had a harvest rite with apples. Maybe we could do something similar?"

"Yeah?" Chris asked. "How?"

Angelica paused, thinking back. "Well . . . We decorated the altar with little miniature pumpkins and two corn dollies, one for the god and one for the goddess. Miss Trudoe hollowed out a couple of apples to use as candle holders. We had two orange candles to symbolise the harvest, a cup of cider, and an apple each. I don't quite remember all of it, but Miss Trudoe keeps a written copy of each ritual in her non-demon Book of Shadows. I can ask her for a copy, if you like."

Chris nodded. "That sounds fine." He smiled slightly, and Angelica nudged him.

"What? You think it's silly?" She sounded slightly cross, like she was trying not to be, but was all the same.

The boy shook his head slowly. "No, it's just . . . It sounds like something my Aunt Phoebe would cook up."

Angelica grinned. "Well," she said, "great minds do think alike!"

The two burst out laughing and began pouring over their notes again, each adding a suggestion somewhere, and crossing a few things out - like making preserves the day of the holiday. Both of them usually did - Chris' mother loved making them for her restaurant and friends - but they didn't know where they'd be able to this year, so it wouldn't be done. Maybe if they could find the school kitchens . . .

All too soon Madam Pince came and told them it was thirty minutes to curfew, and they had best start heading to their dorm. The dark-haired duo wasn't happy, but neither wanted to be caught out of bed, and the library was closing anyway. So they parted ways and set off to their dorms, Angelica going upward one way, and Chris going down the other.

Angelica didn't even bother to change into her nightdress - the overly-long thing was a nuisance, anyway, she thought at the moment - before flopping onto her bed and just falling asleep.

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On Monday, Angelica was walking out the common room door when she saw a large, bright yellow paper stuck onto the message board, covering all the usual notices about club meetings, tutoring offers, and Hogsmeade weekend dates. Curious, she walked over to read it.

FLYING LESSONS

BEGINNING THURSDAY
September 14, 2001
First Year Ravenclaws will have
Flying Lessons on the lawn
at 2 PM with Hufflepuff
DON'T BE LATE!

Flying? Flying with what? Angelica furrowed her brow for a moment before it clicked.

Oh, no. That old cliché couldn't have any actual basis, could it? Broomsticks? Seriously? The messy-haired girl shook her head and walked out the door, firmly convinced that wizards were absolutely flipping nuts. She grabbed her breakfast from the Ravenclaw table, and sat down at the Slytherin table to wait for Chris and avoid her housemates' 'what kind of bug are you?' stares, like usual. One thing happened, however, that was distinctly not usual.

A Slytherin that was not named Christopher Halliwell chose to talk to her. Weird.

"Why do you sit here, Potter?"

Angelica looked up from her plate and across the table at the speaker. It was a girl with caramel-blonde hair, pulled back at the front and braided to the back. She had freckles. She also looked unhappy that Angelica wasn't answering her.

"Potter? Are you deaf?"

The dark-haired girl shook her head. "No . . . " she drew out. "But I am wondering why you're asking me that. And what your name is, because I don't remember it." Yes, she was blunt in the mornings.

The girl shrugged. "Because it's strange for anyone not a Slytherin to sit at our table, and you do it every day. My name's Tracy Davis," she said blithely, sticking out a hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Not believing for a moment that was the only reason, Angelica shook the other girl's hand and said, choosing her words carefully, "Pleasure. I'm Angelica Potter, but I take it you already knew that. I sit here because my friend Chris is a Slytherin, and no one here stares at me like they want to dissect me and preserve my innards."

"No," Tracy drawled, giving an odd sort of half-smile, "We just want to trick you into doing out bidding for us and then taking the blame if anything should go wrong."

Angelica smiled. "I'd expect nothing less. Expect the same."

Tracy looked surprised for a moment, but didn't say anything. Chris showed up then, and the two girls turned away from one another, and to their friends to talk.

"So," Chris said in a sarcastically cheerful tone of voice. "Who's excited for Professor McGonagall's class?" Angelica rolled her eyes at him.

"Just because she called you out on transfiguring Malfoy's needle back into a match every time he almost had it . . . "

He just stuck his tongue out at her.

"Eat you pancakes, you twit."

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AN/AR: Yule is another Wiccan holiday, usually celebrated on December 21st,. It's the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. Essentially, it's a festival of light, much like Hanukkah or Christmas. You're not supposed to be alone then, and it's a time for family and friends and gift-giving. It's when you look forward to the spring to come, and the end of all that snow piling up on your front step, much as the kids may love playing in it.

Credit for the apple harvest rite goes to Patti Wigington at About Paganism/Wicca.